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I pushed Bellie’s room door, slowly so she had time to say “go away” and stop doing anything embarrassing. But when it swung open for me, she was still asleep.

Dorabella snored lightly and not unappealingly. On top of the covers. Naked. She’d fallen asleep on her arm, her hand close to touching her cunt. At some stage in the night, possibly in homage to the animal noises Raylene and I were making in the next room, Bellie had masturbated until she could sleep.

She looked beautiful, of course, but she wouldn’t want me to find her like that. On the other hand, it was my duty to wake her up. Her sheet and two pillows were on the floor. I picked up the sheet and draped it, very carefully, over her. But I wasn’t careful enough. Bellie spun onto her back, hair all over her face and said, “Whuh?”

I shrugged my shoulders by way of apology, and she said, more calmly, “Oh. Oh, good morning… Unh.” She rubbed her face and pushed her hair back out of her eyes. “Oh Christ.” Then she went through a series of micro expressions, similar to those Raylene had demonstrated just a few minutes before. Except that Bellie’s ended with a mischievous grin, with some malice in it, before it broadened into an open-mouthed grin. “You want me to get Lynette. To watch while you cane Raylene.”

“Um. Yeah. You know why.” There was noise from the bathroom. Raylene was taking a shower. I hadn’t given her permission, but it was probably a good idea.

“Yes, but I’m surprised you do.” Bellie looked down at her breasts, or she was just stretching her neck. She looked back up at me. “You figured her out fucking quickly. Or this bit about her, anyway. She’s going to do her best to look sorry. And she’ll be loving it.” She smiled up at me, and moved to one side of the bed, by way of invitation.

So I sat beside her, one foot on the bed and one dutifully on the floor. “Well, you know I wouldn’t do it if I thought she was going to hate it. And, well, she didn’t run up the stairs when you guys turned up. That’s, um, meaningful.”

Bellie sat up straight. The sheet fell away from her breasts. I tried not to look. I’d seen her breasts before. She put her arm around me and smiled, and I did what that gesture demanded and kissed her. Her mouth smelled of almonds. Her body was warm, and smelled of bready womanhood.

I cupped her left breast in my hand. So I’d lost all the points I’d given myself for not looking. My fingertips pressed and released her nipple but didn’t pinch.

She didn’t move for a long time, knowing I’d keep stroking her. She said, “Oooooo-wah.” so that was still right. There are things you don’t forget.

Bellie breathed out at last. “You are going to fuck me, aren’t you?”

I wanted to ask why it was important to her now, when I’d wanted her years ago and she’d ended it: no more Dorabella for me. But it would be an impolite question, because I could guess most of the answer. So I said, “I’m definitely not going to fuck you tonight.”

I faced Raylene over her pillows. I didn’t mind waking up next to her. She stirred, looked at me and smiled. So apparently I was good news too.

I watched her face, and in a few seconds I saw it: the moment when she remembered she was going to go down in a tee-shirt to the bamboo grove at rear of the church.

She’d cut and fetch me two new bamboo canes, and then hold still for me while I tested both canes across her ass. Possibly with Lynette watching. The micro-expressions went: puzzlement, then alarm, then amusement at me, and the thought that it might be an adventure: a kind of happiness. She laughed, very low. “Oh, you’re really going to go through with this?”

I kissed her nose. She smelled of sex: cunt, come and sweat. We were both wearing each other’s fluids: we’d got us all over us. The whole room smelt of our fucking, probably. “You’ve got lovely eyes. I don’t know if I mentioned that. And a great ass.”

“Yeah. You’re going to get your ass into a tee-shirt, soon. And you’re going to cut two canes for me to use on you. Remember?”

She did the face of a waiter remembering an order. “One thick, one skinny. The Laurel and Hardy of canes.” – I laughed at that – “And me at your mercy. All vulnerable. And Lynette maybe watching.”

“Yep.”

“Ah fuck. You’re a fucking pervert, you know.”

I kissed her forehead, nose and cheek this time. “So true. You’d better get started.”

“Toilet. Clean teeth.” She pushed the sheets and blankets aside.

“Little teeshirt and nothing else. Yeah.”

Raylene, naked, ass still showing signs of my mistreatment, and smelling of fucking, got out of bed. She selected a tee-shirt with the pre-revision table of elements across her breasts. It reached about twelve centimetres down her thighs. She’d be at risk of flashing her cunt at the church-goers with every step she’d take.

I watched her walk out. Cotton clung to her ass as she moved.

She might well cause heart attacks among the old men waiting for the church to open. But they’d die happy.

I rolled out of the bed myself, and put on Raylene’s robe. Pink dragons, I was wearing. I took them into Bellie’s room.

Raylene had accepted the idea that she was going to flash a bunch of churchgoers in the morning, embarrass herself with Bellie and Lynette in the kitchen, and then come back with the canes she’d just cut so I could use them across her ass. That’s a lot to accept, but she had no complaints.

I kissed her, and let my fingers trail down the gap between her buttocks, pressing briefly against her asshole so she knew I hadn’t forgotten it, but then trailing down to her cunt. She was enthusiastically wet, soaking and leaking. I stroked her. She said, “fuuuuck”, and her ass rose and fell, rubbing herself against my fingers.

The fuck. You doing. In my fucking bedroom?

I stroked her, and started planning. When she went to cut and fetch her canes, I’d have to wake Bellie up and tell her the show would be in half an hour’s time. I’d tell Bellie that I’d meant it when I said Lynette could come up and watch.

Lynette’s invitation would be better coming from Bellie than from me. I’d be of out luck with anything I wanted to suggest to Lynette, from the moment I walked into her bedroom uninvited.

Raylene’s moans became shorter and high pitched. I rolled her over, onto her back. And rolled my body onto hers.

I thought that I hadn’t fancied or liked Lynette much, so far. Still she had a kind of gamine prettiness, and there isn’t enough of that in the world. Anyway, if she came to watch me cane Raylene that’d be entirely up to her.

I wondered if she would. When she’d arrived with Bellie, and I was strapping Raylene’s ass on the stairs, she’d shown a certain interest – more than is strictly polite – in seeing Raylene naked. Maybe she’d tell herself that she should be there to make sure I wasn’t too cruel.

I took her wrists and pushed them over her head while I entered her. She raised her thighs to welcome me, and I knew I’d come in her too soon, no matter what I did.

I smacked her wrists, meaning she wasn’t to move them, and grabbed her ass, holding tight and fucking her hard and fast, selfishly. Embrace the danger. Also the woman.

From my point of view, Lynette’s and Bellie’s presence would mainly be a way of giving Raylene the mild humiliation she so obviously liked. I said, “Sorry girl, I’m going to come, any second.”

Raylene had her mouth open and her eyes closed. She was intently getting fucked. She said, “nnnnnnnn”, which I decided to take as positive, whatever it specifically meant.

Then it was as though energy and sensation flowed from every part of my body into my cock, and I shouted, “ahh”, loud enough to wake Bellie, also the dead, and came. Still shouting like an idiot.

Speaking of idiocy, I was sure I was going to flirt with Bellie more, today. But I wondered what would happen if, in the middle of caning Raylene, I kissed Lynette.

“Raylene, in the morning I want you to get up. You can put on a tee-shirt. Nothing else, so I’d suggest you choose it carefully. And go to the bamboo clump next door.”

“That’s the church! There’ll be old ladies there. And old men.”

I’d forgotten it was Saturday night. On a Sunday morning there’d be more people about a church than usual.

I stayed unsympathetic. “So you’ll have to be careful, won’t you? Especially if you bend over. Um. Or crouch. Or step over something.”

“Or … move, really.” Raylene was shocked, I think. But it didn’t last. As she always did, she started to think of ways to make it sexy. She watched me like a puppy watching a human about to throw a ball.

“You’ll cut two pieces of bamboo. Each one a bit longer than your arm. One will be thin and whippy; the other will be thick. Understood?”

“Jee-suss.” This time I didn’t deal in warnings. I smacked the undercurve of her bottom, getting a good, ringing pistol-shot sound.

“Yes, Sir!”

I smacked her again, and wondered if I’d imagined the noise from the next room: Bellie turning over in bed? I’d have to keep it down. But I said, “That’s better. Good girl.”

Raylene reached behind her back to stroke my cock. I was enjoying being cruel, as she’d expected. “Am I?” But she looked pleased to be told it.

“You’ll bring them back to the house. If you see Bellie or Lynette in the kitchen you’ll explain that you’re going to be caned for being rude at dinner.”

“I tell her?”

“Yeah. You don’t get to be rude to people. Not without consequences, from now on, Raylene. If you’re ashamed of getting the cane, well, so you should be.”

“What about Bellie?”

“You weren’t rude to her, were you?”

“Um. I s’pose not.” She frowned.

“Anyway, you’ll tell whoever you see what they’re going to be used for.”

“All the old men? They’d have heart attacks!”

I smacked her bottom again. Quiet enough for Bellie to sleep through, I hoped. “Whoever you see in the kitchen, not the … parishioners. Or whatever they’re called.”

Raylene begins to realise that I didn’t actually, completely, mind being put to the trouble of humiliating her.

Raylene held my cock tight and ran her fingers slowly up and down the shaft. I was sensitive to her every movement, and releasing pre-come.

She said, “God, Jaime, this is so … This is …”

She meant ‘humiliating’, I guessed. But she wasn’t going to say it.

“Then you’ll come up the stairs. I’ll be here. You’ll hand over the cane and ask me to punish you. Then you’ll do as you’re told while I cane you. You’ll not be sitting down for a while. And you’ll have learned not to be rude to guests.”

Raylene nodded, and stroked her fingers along my cock. This was sex, and she’d let herself be picked up in the current and float along. “I really have to say sorry to Lynette? After?”

“Oh, you can apologise at the time. I’ve already told Bellie that she’s invited to come and watch.”

But you can’t kiss ironically. My position, leaning over Raylene’s back to kiss her neck, brought my cock back into firm contact with her ass. A man can’t have a discussion like the one Raylene had raised, about a threesome with her and her sister, without his cock getting hard and extremely sensitive to girlskin. Not a man who likes women.

So my cock pressed against her ass, and her ass was firm and still warm from the razor strop. I sighed and pushed harder, just for the sensation of it.

Raylene pushed back at me, and I saw her smile. I’d tried to be blasé about her offer, as though a threesome with her and her sister Dorabella – “Bellie” – was the sort of thing I could take or leave. The condition of my cock gave that away.

I thought some unimportant things. Bellie must have talked about me when she’d asked Raylene to let me interview her about life in a neo-Nazi gang. And Raylene had just told me with absolute confidence that Bellie wanted to fuck me. So they’d discussed some things about me. Maybe they’d already discussed this threesome, though it felt like it was just Raylene’s idea.

Raylene rolled over and wiggled against my cock, reminding me that there was already one gorgeous girl in bed with me, and it was time she was fucked. She was feeling cheerful. I don’t know why I felt the need to strip away the power she’d just taken, but it seemed necessary for both of us. So I said, “What about Lynette? Do you fancy her?”

“What, for a foursome? I don’t know if she’d want that.”

I put my hand onto her lower buttocks, and smacked very lightly. A warning. “I asked, do you fancy her?”

“Mmm. I don’t know. She’s pretty. But I don’t know her very well.”

“You were very rude to her at dinner.”

Raylene grinned happily. It was hard not to smile with her. But I didn’t. “Well, she’s so easy to wind up. I was just teasing her. A bit.”

“You were rude.” I switched to my dom voice, not loud, but with grit in it. “While you ‘re under my authority. I expected you to behave yourself.”

Raylene looked surprised, then her face cleared. She’d expected the threesome possibility would have kept my mind occupied. But she knew where my topic was leading, or she thought she did. She glanced at the razor strop and then watched my eyes, trying to look solemn.

“Yes, Sir, I was very rude. I’m sorry.” It was a parody of being sorry. But I nodded. And let her wait. She smiled appealingly. “Sir. Are you going to strap me?”

“No.” Raylene looked puzzled. And disappointed. I said, “Rude girls get the cane.”

She frowned. The cane was a surprise. She’d probably heard things about the cane. I confirmed them. “Because it hurts more, and it’s going to mark you longer. You’ll be able to look at your ass in the mirror and remember not to be a rude little brat.”

Raylene looked down, then, at the sheet below her pillow. She wanted me to think she was sorry. Or perhaps she was.

At least she hadn’t claimed that she wasn’t a brat. If she’d been thinking of it, I didn’t give her time. “So in the morning, Raylene. I’m going to cane you.”

She must have been expecting that, but when it’s clearly said it still has an impact. Her mouth dropped open. “Oh. Oh god.”

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The music is was bad as its cover. Not entirely their fault. Atlantic Records insisted on the title and the photo. But the music is just awful.

Let’s begin with where not to start. Don’t start with Works 1 or Works 2. There’s some good stuff there but it’s slim pickings.

Forget Love Beach; it’s as awful as its cover suggests. They were forced to record it by the record company at the end of a tour. They had nothing, and they were exhausted.

You could listen to Black Moon some time, because it’s got three good tracks on it. But it’s far from essential.

It really doesn’t sound like ELP, and nothing I’ve said about why they’re good applies to it. It’s pop music because their record company needed a hit. They dutifully released two singles, neither of which were hits. For addicts only.

Their final studio album, In the Hot Seat, competes with Love Beach for worst ELP abomination. (Though the Dylan cover version, “The Man in the Long, Black Coat”, is a cracker.)

2 Songs to start with, to see if you like the taste

i “Lucky Man”, from the Emerson, Lake & Palmer album. Famous for including the first rock Moog solo, courtesy of Emerson, on record. (Tagged on at the end because Emerson was in the pub while Lake turned a simple ballad he’d written as a kid into something with real studio heft.) It’s still their most popular song.

ii “From the Beginning”, from Trilogy. Another pretty Greg Lake song, this time about fucking up relationships. This time, Emerson’s participation is more integrated into the song.

This made artist HR Giger a superstar, and probably helped him get the gig for designing “Alien”. The album title refers to fellatio, and so does a detail in the artwork, only half airbrushed away from the women’s neck

iii Toccata, from Brain Salad Surgery. Now we’re jumping into the deep end. This is Emerson’s arrangement of the fourth movement of Argentinian composer Alberto Ginastera’s Piano Concerto No 1. It aint that pretty at all.

After ELP had recorded their version, they went, nervous as hell, to Ginastera’s place in France and played it to him. Like Aaron Copeland, who loved ELP’s arrangement of Hoe-Down and Fanfare for the Common Man, he…

Well, Ginastera listened to their version, then threw his arms up and said it was “terrible”. Emerson was crest-fallen. Then Ginastera explained he meant “terrible” in French, as in “amazing, fantastic, formidable”, and so on. It is, indeed, terrific.

If unusual time signatures are your thing, this is orgasm central. It switches times at the turn of a dime and the drop of a hat. Even if the word “time signatures” means nothing to you, it’s exciting as hell. Fuck, it’s fast.

iv The Barbarian, from Emerson, Lake & Palmer. Basically an arrangement of Bartok’s Allegro Barbare, this is much simpler than Toccata. But it keeps the Bartok spikiness, the European folksong origin, and then it just charges forward. I believe the Foo Fighters drummer once said he spend much of his adolescence listening to this, over and over. It always cheers me up, every time.

v The Endless Enigma, from Trilogy. Yeah, it’s prog, so its nearly 11 minutes long, divided into two parts, with a middle section called Fugue. But it’s seriously good instrumental work between the three of them, and a strong vocal from Lake. It has lyrics that sound ok, line by line, and don’t make any sense at all. But at that stage Lake’s voice could sell anything. Anyway, it’s the music that counts.

vi Take a Pebble, from Emerson, Lake and Palmer. This would have been a higher recommendation, but it’s in a similar mood to the first two numbers. It’s Lake’s composition, but the long piano solo by Emerson, and his in-fills, are amazing. So are the opening notes, which Emerson got by taking the back off a piano and plucking the strings like a harp. I also recommend the expanded version on Welcome Back.

vii Tarkus, from Tarkus. Actually, I think this is their best piece, and maybe the most high-energy twenty-odd minutes of music by anyone. It’s just not where I’d start someone. Again, the version on Welcome Back is also highly recommended.

viii Jerusalem, from Brain Salad Surgery. It’s that song. They play it, Lake sings it. The BBC banned it, for some reason. It’s pomp rock at its finest. It’s brilliant.

The inside image on the Brain Salad Surgery cover. Same model: Giger’s partner, the late Li Tobler.

ix Karn Evil 9, Parts 1, 2 and 3. I have a copy of Brain Salad Surgery on vinyl. Karn Evil 9 starts on side 1. You have to turn the record over halfway through Part 1, and the rest of it takes up the whole of side 2.

Contains the “Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends…” line.

I’m also fond of:

“Not content with that, With our hands behind our back, We pull Jesus from a hat: Get into that! Get into that!” They dropped those lines from most performances after they got Big in America.

The music of Part 1 is pretty much straight-ahead rock, only faster. But it’s great. Come inside! Part 2 is instrumental, with high-speed silly noises from Emerson (that’s praise), and synthesised percussion from Carl Palmer. Part 3 is science fiction: a battle between two space fleets is won when one side destroys the other, and is in turn destroyed by their unimpressed ship’s computers. Lots of synthesiser and Moog, some great guitar and singing from Lake. And silly lyrics.

x The Great Gates of Kiev.

That’s the last section of their version of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. It’s fast, it’s big and it’s grand. Death is not life, by the way, As Any Fule Kno. But when Lake sings the opposite, you can find yourself momentarily convinced.

3 Albums

If I were going to own just one ELP album, it would be that live triple, Welcome Back My Friends. It’s only a double in CD form, or a few hundred megabytes in digital form. It has storming live versions of most of the above.

Its full title, by the way, is Welcome Back My Friends to the Show that Never Ends; Ladies and Gentlemen, Emerson, Lake and Palmer. I believe it’s still the longest record title ever. They did it as a typesetter’s joke. They knew it’d get into the Top 10, and they also knew that there was no way of fitting that title into the little grids that the music press used to list the charting albums.

After that I’d buy Tarkus, then the first album (called Emerson, Lake & Palmer), then Brain Salad Surgery, then Trilogy, then Pictures at an Exhibition.

Amazing sex fun fact!

Lightly furred redhead, interested in the “Variation” aspect of that weird shit on the audio. And demonstrating Emerson’s Famous Mullet haircut. Not the actual girl in the anecdote left of this photo, though she was a redhead too.

I lost my virginity to Pictures at an Exhibition. I doubt if there’s many people can say that, since ELP’s music, for all its merits, was notoriously not sexy. I was giving it a listen when a girl who’d been teaching me how to kiss dropped by. I made her a cup of tea; she brought out some hash.

I started taking her clothes off. She didn’t stop me. “Oh,” I thought. “Oh, oh, I see.”

“Promenade”, indeed. Though you can really go at it during the “Blues Variation” interlude. I could make a “Great Gates of Kiev” joke, but that’d be ungentlemanly, also completely untrue.

I’d have put something else on if I’d known she was coming. But once she’d arrived I was distracted.

Anyway, you know who you are. I still think you’re wonderful. Also, thank you!

There are some things I’ve only got hindsight on. But I know that if I’d been watching at the time, I’d have got it wrong. When Led Zeppelin broke up, I’d have expected a constant flow of great new music from Jimmy Page, and Plant and Jones to fade into obscurity.

But instead we got Plant casually stepping over the self-parody trap as if it were a puddle, and Jones working with brilliant musicians including Robert Fripp to make vital if not exactly best-selling new music. While Page prepared yet another re-mastered re-release of the Led Zepp catalogue.

Palmer, Lake & Emerson, in this photo. They were pretty lads in their day, but they never really got the female fans.

Another thing I’d have expected is that together or apart, the members of Emerson, Lake and Palmer would be making brilliant new music, lots of it, to the present day. Or till about a week ago, when Keith Emerson shot himself. Given the talent that was packed into that trio, many fans, including me, were surprised there wasn’t more music.

Still, the power and passion and aggression of the first five ELP albums is unique. There’s nothing like it in rock, prog rock, or classical. Or heavy metal, though speed metal is probably the genre that comes closest to one of the things ELP were doing. Except that ELP were doing everything else, from classical to jazz, to ambient, to rag-time and boogie-woogie, to blues and hard rock, and sensitive singer-songwriter ballads, you name it, as well.

Emerson riding and stabbing a Hammond organ, Osaka, 1972. He could get notes from doing that, using feedback. And knives. He got the knife from Lemmy, who was Emo’s roadie and not yet “Lemmy of Moorhead”. Lemmy died this year, too.

I also liked the massive critical hate for ELP. With the advent of punk, critics managed to persuade the world that ELP were ridiculous musos doing triple live albums, putting out pieces of music more than half an hour long and broken up into sections. All of which was true, except it wasn’t ridiculous. They had guts, and they took risks no band would take today. Carl Palmer said they were “a sabre-rattling band”, and he was right.

One of the reasons I enjoyed the critical contempt for a band I only discovered after it had wound up was that it gave me a shameful secret that wasn’t about bdsm. I could say, “I’m into bdsm! I get off on telling women what to do and whipping them!” And that still wouldn’t have the shock effect in polite society as, “ELP are, seriously, up there with Led Zep! One of the five best bands that ever played!”

Emerson conducting his own music in the 2010s. Its not often you see a shot of Emo near a flat surface that doesn’t have a drink on it. I’m not sure which orchestra that is.

Although Emerson was 71, he still owed the world his Piano Concerto No 2. I’ve heard he had a worsening of his carpal tunnel problem and couldn’t play, and that’s why he shot himself. I wished he’d stayed. He could have composed and got someone else to play it. He was very kind and encouraging to young musicians like Rachel Flowers, and I wish he’d composed and let them play.

I heard that Emerson and Lake wrote some music together when they were preparing to go out on the Manticore Tour in 2010. I hope Greg Lake finishes that and shapes it into songs for one final album. But – though I also admire Lake – I’m not holding my breath.

But I’m too grateful for what Emerson left us to be complaining. Anyway, Keith Emerson is dead. Bugger.

Postscript

So if ELP are such an eclectic band, you say, they must have done a song about bdsm while they were rambling about from genre to genre. Why yes, I reply, they did: “So Far to Fall”, in 1975.

Sample lyric:

“Ooh she had me, she had me running rings around the floor.She had me nailed to a door, she had me crying out,she had me crying out for more, more, more, more, more, more, more.She bad me, she tied me up in knots like a piece of a string,she did a thing to my thing, she did a thing to my thinglike it’s never been done before.”

Raylene and I had the talk, then, with her lying on her front with my hand on her ass, and me on my side facing her. We agreed that the nature of our relationship seemed to be that I belted her arse, for good reasons or for no reason at all except sex, and she did as she was told.

If she didn’t do as she was told, she’d get one of those punishments that have reasons and lectures attached to them. She agreed that if that happened she’d deserve it. Well, she said she agreed, which is what keeps things going.

Really, we both just meant that life was sexier that way. We liked the sex we were having, and the roles we’d fallen into, and we liked each other. So we’d carry on together. Her sister’s old boyfriend (I’d only been a one night stand, but that wasn’t my fault) was now her boyfriend. I did know that counted, with both Raylene and Dorabella. I just didn’t know how much.

Anyway, I didn’t open up the topic of sisterly rivalry, and carried on with the BDSM Talk. If, I said, I told her to do something she didn’t think was sensible, or she’d really hate, or if she thought a punishment was unreasonable, then she could say, “Time out, please, sir”, and that meant we could step out of roles and discuss what was going on.

Then I said, “You know what safe words are, don’t you?” She nodded. “Well, your safe words are ‘yellow’ and ‘red'”. Raylene had heard all that before, and though I think she was pleased to find herself in a relationship where those rules actually applied, she didn’t find them scary. Or exciting. It was just how it was. So she agreed, and fell silent.

I smacked her arse, because it’s rewarding in its own right, sensually, and because it would probably lead us, soon enough, into another fuck. I’d be rougher this time, and I’d hurt her. But Raylene said, “You were ages coming to bed.”

“True. Sorry ’bout that.”

“Were you with Bellie?”

“Yeah.”

“Did she try to fuck you?”

“Ummmm…”

“Thought so. You can fuck her, if you want to. She wants you. And seriously, I won’t mind.”

Mr Boring (Raylene’s perception)

I tend to take statements like that at face value, and they aren’t always meant that way. That can be dangerous. At least I’d learned that it never pays to seem too enthusiastic. “Well, that’s nice. Ah, and you can fuck my brother if you like. Though you might not want to.”

That was a joke. I’d mentioned my brother to her. My brother, who doesn’t read this blog, is very straight and right-wing in the boring way: brown suede shoes, not Doc Marten boots. He and Raylene would hate each other on sight. Better acquaintance would only make it worse.

She frowned at me, and I smiled at her and put baritone honey into my voice. “But really, I think you’re keeping me busy at the moment.”

I thought that was good, smooth diplomacy, and I rewarded myself by leaning over to kiss the back of her neck. The movement brought my cock into contact with her ass. That was good.

Raylene wiggled her ass, to let me know she’d noticed too. But she said, “Well, you could do us both at once. We’ve tag-teamed a few times. It’s fun. And I fancy you, you might have noticed. And Bellie wants you too. So.”

Say what you like. It seemed like a good idea to me

I had nothing to say. I could credit the hardening of my cock to the contact with her bottom, incredibly cute and still warm from all the terrible things I’d done to her. But the idea of Raylene and Dorabella, all at once, all in one bed, was like being drunk with sex. Part of me, not necessarily the smartest part, wanted to say, “Yeah! Let’s go wake her up! NOW!”

But, contemptible coward that I am, I retreated into irony. “I faint with desire,” I said, and kissed her neck again.

Raylene lay underneath me, head turned to watch me. I’d slid partly to her left, so most of my weight was taken by the bed but our bodies were still touching. She was thinking. So was I. I’d been gentle during that last fuck, and she hadn’t come as hard as she had previously. I could allow for her being tired, but it was still useful information.

I kissed her right nipple. Raylene watched, still. “Sir?”

“Girl? Raylene?”

“Do you want to bite me?” I bit her nipple, then turned my head so that the nipple was grazed lightly as it moved along my teeth. “Mmm. You should.”

“Bite your nipples more?”

“Yes. I mean no.” She shook her head. “I meant, you should do whatever you like. You should take what you want. I like it when you do that.”

I bit her nipple harder, to make her wince. She liked that, her face said. Why had it taken me so long to work that out?

I had a couple of pairs of clamps, for the nipples of bad and lusty girls, but they were at home. Well, in the meantime I’d bite her more. I said, “I’ve taken you. You belong to me.”

She looked at me intently. “You own me now.” There was something fierce in her voice. “Like you own a laptop. Or a table. As property.”

I nodded, as if I thought that was only natural, and no large thing. She didn’t want my gentleness, and she wouldn’t want my awe at her gift, nor my gratitude. “Yeah. I do.”

I put my hand on her lower belly, and my fingers in her cunt. Raylene opened her mouth to breathe, but otherwise kept still.

“Whose cunt is this?”

“Yours, sir. It belongs to you.”

I smiled at her, because her acquiescence was sexy. I could have gone through that catechism with her asshole, that I hadn’t yet fucked, and her mouth, that I had. And then repeating with her breasts, and her belly, her legs and her back, until we’d specified that every part of her body was under new ownership.

But there were aspects of her submission to me that worried me. She’d given it too easily, and she’d set no conditions, done nothing to protect her interests in her last minute before she became property. She had once shown a taste for authoritarian politics. That wasn’t a place I wanted to bring her back to.

Still, I said, firmly, “Good girl.” Raylene smiled. “My girl.” The smile became toothy. She was happy to be mine. I was happy about that too. “Then we have some things to talk about.”

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